


13 Steps to Falling

by wartransmission



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, M/M, Reincarnation AU, unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wartransmission/pseuds/wartransmission
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are thirteen steps to falling, and Dirk knows them well.</p><p>The problem comes when he doesn't know if he's falling in love or out of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 13 Steps to Falling in Love

Step 1.

He finds you when you’re thirteen and lonely, your hands cold from the winter wind because you’d thought that leather gloves would suffice as protection. They don’t. He doesn’t mean to run into you, you think, but that doesn’t matter when you find yourself half cold and half warm because you’re on your side on the snowy floor and he’s all around you.

He helps you up instantly, apologies rolling off his tongue like free-falling words on jagged white cliffs. His hand is not warm, not through his thick gloves, but you know that it should be underneath the thick cotton.

He calls himself Jake.

You let him call you by your last name, because you can’t quite bring yourself to like your first name. Not in his mouth, not in anyone else’s.

Roxy is the only exception.

 

Step 2.

Jane likes Jake instantly. You don’t blame her, not when he’s got this charm that makes you want to get closer. He’s not particularly handsome, but he’s cute, and his smiles and laughter are infectious just as much as his excitement is. He’s practically a seven year old in a thirteen-year old’s body, even more so with his affectionate nature. (“ _I’ve never had so many friends before_ ,” he says, and you honestly doubt it despite his honest grin.) He’s a dog if you had to compare him to anything, what with his unshakable loyalty, warmth, and intelligence.

He’s dangerous. You remind yourself of that daily.

 

Step 3.

He’s attractive when you get used to him. Certainly, he’s not your type- but the air around him, how he handles himself, they all add up to a beautiful sum.

His hands are calloused, sharp around the edges, rough whenever they handle things; you wonder if he would be just as rough when he holds someone in his bed. You wonder if he fucks just as hard as he scuffles, if his hands would be just as warm as they are whenever he tries to push you down.

That’s your first error.

 

Step 4.

It’s your fault. You accept that.

You made the mistake of entertaining your attraction towards him, and now you’ve fallen a little deeper than you should have. You can’t even deign to blame it on him. He knows nothing of it; he doesn’t even know of your inclinations to people of the same gender.

You make the mistake of letting the infatuation fester a little longer.

You let it happen, because really. How else would you know how painful it is for Roxy if you don’t experience it for yourself?

[You say that, but you honestly don’t know how to stop. You’re scared, just a bit.]

 

Step 5.

He leaves when summer comes, says that his grandma needs him in their little island as company. Roxy insists that Jake keep in touch, Jane makes him promise to send letters, and Jake says yes to both. You don’t even fake a smile or a frown when he turns to you, because he knows that it’s not your thing.

You ask him to come back because there’s no one else to test your dummy bots on. He grins when you say as much, then pulls you into his arms for the last hug as he says, “I’ll miss you too, Dirk.”

You don’t remember when and how it began that he calls you by your name like it’s something precious, like it’s a secret he can keep with your group of four.

 

Step 6.

He calls you up on Skype at three in the morning, repeatedly, telling you that he misses scuffling with you and that it’s like there’s a gaping hole in his side whenever he remembers that there’s no one else on his island except his grandma. He tells you that he misses your group of undeniably peculiar and amusing friends. He grins when he says it, all sheepish embarrassment and expectancy as he waits for your reply.

You tell him that you miss him too.

You don’t tell him that you fuck yourself on your fingers whenever he catches you at three in the morning and you’re still on your bed, still half-awake and painfully aroused because you dreamed of his warm hands around your neck as he fucks into you.

 

Step 7.

He comes back when you’re fifteen and you think you’ve gotten over it. You’ve never tried to be with anyone else, not because you intend to keep yourself available for him, but because it’s too much trouble. It’s not that you’re in love with him, not really; it’s just a fucked up sort of childish infatuation you have for someone who doesn’t know any better. It should be easier to get over it if the origin of the attraction came back, surely.

You’re wrong.

 

 Step 8.

You give in, eventually. You think that he’ll reject you when you let the words pour out of your mouth (“ _I like you,_ ” but that’s a lie, isn’t it? There something else there, something _different,_ but you can’t define it.), you’re sure of it, but he says that he could like you too. He says that he wants to give you a chance.

For some inexplicable reason, you’re not surprised. For the first time in a long time, you falter, flushing red up to the tips of your ears, and he laughs. He covers your larger hand with his, squeezes down on your quivering palm, and you’re not _surprised._ You didn’t expect the acceptance; at the most you’d expected that he’d wish to keep your friendship, but even so.

It all feels horribly wrong, and somehow, you know that it’s not because of Jane’s own affections.

 

Step 9.

You initiate the kiss, if only because you feel like you have to. He stumbles back, shocked at the sudden affectionate gesture, but he reels himself in when he notices your expression.

He initiates the kiss on the next date, you hold his hand for the date that comes after, and all too soon, you’re in his bed.

When he holds you close, unnaturally gentle compared to his usual disposition, you feel like there’s something you should remember. You feel like there’s something off. You feel like you’re not supposed to be here, but you wait. You let him satisfy himself first, let him think that you’re just as sated, before telling him that you’re needed at home. He trusts you, far too much, and he lets you go.

You think that it may have been a mistake on his part, but you don’t know why.

 

Step 10.

The nightmares that you had as a kid come back, clearer and oh so real that when you wake up, you have to bite your thumb to remind yourself that this, the rumpled sheets and the dry heat, is reality.

And yet, when you open your eyes, you remember everything. You remember clouds, the darkness, a sword piercing your chest, the throbbing pain of letting go and seeing yourself die and _dying_ of your own volition.

You remember him.

 

Step 11.

You find out why it feels so wrong. You realize it a little too late, and for the first time, you feel like you’re in completely over your head. You feel like the worst kind of dumbass that has ever been.

You were never supposed to find him again. You were supposed to stay away. He was- _is_ wrong. He’s always been wrong. He isn’t supposed to be yours. In the silence of your room, in the noisy haze of memories in your head, you remember that he loves far too much, that he wants to be loved back, and that you left him.

You left him, but he never left you.

 

Step 12.

You’re the only one who remembers. Jane, Roxy and Jake have no idea just what it is you’re referring to when you talk about Skaia, Sburb Alpha, Prospit, or Derse. They don’t know anything. There aren’t any glimpses, any hints- you’re the only one who remembers your own death and the death of everyone else.

All too suddenly, you stop. The world still moves and time still passes, but it all feels like life has come to a halt. You realize with far too much ease for someone who’s only eighteen that you’re tired, weary, and you want the world to just stop with you.

You realize that things have changed without you knowing it and you’re not the one in love, because Jake didn’t love you back like you loved him then. You remember him pushing you away then pulling you back; he couldn’t even bear to keep you without some sort of push from a mind-altering drug. It was like all the sincerity in his bones towards you vanished after your warped version of a confession, and while you can understand that, it still hurts. It was like he only wanted you to be his, despite how he didn’t feel the same.

He was just lonely.

 

Step 13.

You’re a child. You know that. Even within this eighteen year old vessel, even with how much you know, you’re still just a kid who wants to be loved. But you hide that as much as you can because it’s far too large a weakness, far too conspicuous, and you don’t want to be hurt. Not again, not anymore.

You meet up with him, even though you don’t want to. Even though all you want to do is hide under your sheets, like you used to when you were a kid, and text him that it’s over. It’s _over._ But you respect him, you don’t want to make him misunderstand and you still _like_ him even if it’s not the same. You tell him to meet you in that private spot you have in the library. It’s safe, safer than any other public place, and you won’t have to feel like you’re being looked at or judged if you break the news to him.

You say, “I don’t think this sort of thing is working out between us. It’s not like you’re honestly attracted to me, anyway. Let’s just break it off.”


	2. 13 Steps to Falling Out of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to emotively and onewayworld; you guys are the absolute BEST. Bless you both for putting up with my angst, hahaha. <3

Step 1.

You find him when you’re thirteen and new to everything, new to America, new to the cold and the snow that makes everything look pure despite how you know that this place is dirtier than the forest grounds you know so well. “Land of the Free,” they say. You don’t know how true it is, but you’ll always choose your island in the Pacific with your grandma over anything else. You’re sure of it.

“Strider,” he says when you ask for his name. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown, doesn’t react in any way when you pull him up and off the ground.

He unnerves you.

 

Step 2.

You like Jane and Roxy instantly. They’re bright and brilliant women, headstrong with their ideals and beliefs, and you can’t help but be pulled in. Dirk doesn’t say anything when you make fast friends with them, doesn’t welcome you any more than he did when you’d first met, but you suppose that’s just how he is. You slowly learn through the months that you’re with him that he’s scared, that he closes himself down like this because he’d rather not break because of someone new and unknown.

You think you can live with pushing through that barrier. No matter how long it takes.

 

Step 3.

You think Jane likes you. Maybe Dirk as well. You doubt it at times, thinking perhaps that it’s only in your imagination, but you can’t help from entertaining the idea of them liking you anyway. They don’t have to give out an excess of hints for you to realize; you’re not that daft to remain oblivious.

You notice how they look at you when they think you’re not looking back.

 

Step 4.

Dirk doesn’t know that you know. You can tell from how he tries so hard to keep it hidden, how his hand always grazes against yours when you walk side-by-side, how he softly sucks in a breath whenever you catch him looking at you. You always laugh, nudge him in the side; you let him think that you’re oblivious because what does it matter? If he won’t tell you, then he won’t. You’re not a hundred percent sure that he’s attracted to you, either way.

Still, you think of how it must be like if he were yours, and if you were his. It’s just a fantasy, so it should be fine.

(Right?)

 

Step 5.

“Don’t take too long,” he says, hands in his pockets as he looks at you through dark lenses. Your heartbeat spikes a little at the notion that he’ll confess, that this might be the time for it, but he just says, “The test bots will miss kicking your ass.”

You laugh when you pull him into an embrace, saying, “I’ll miss you too, Dirk.” He rolls his eyes at you, you can tell as much from his huff of exasperation, but it’s as good a confession as you can get of his attachment to you that you can be happy with it.

Maybe you aren’t so wrong after all.

 

Step 6.

Sometimes, when you Skype call him, you notice it.

You don’t know what ‘it’ is, to be honest. Is it the hitch in his breath whenever he starts to speak, the way that he drawls out your name when you first call him at five in the afternoon? Or is it because of how he breathes, slow and sleepy, until you drop your voice into a whisper and he groans in complaint that he’s far too bushed to keep up with your enthusiasm? Or, perhaps, it’s everything? (You entertain the notion, just for a little while, that he’s always in bed whenever he answers your calls, with ruffled hair and tanned skin bare of their usual clothing.)

You realize after a week that he’s not always half-asleep when he talks to you.

 

Step 7.

He’s different when you come back. You don’t know how you can tell from his constantly blank expression, but there’s something off. You know there’s something wrong. He won’t let you touch him like he used to. You can barely even look at him for more than a second before he wilts, turning his gaze away while pretending to work on something else.

It’s like you’ve gone back to square one, and you don’t even know what you did wrong.

 

Step 8.

You realize that falling into love is much comparable to hunting for the beasts on your island.

“I like you,” he says, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he doesn’t add anything else. He doesn’t explicate on it, doesn’t even bother to make a joke about it- he just says it, simple as that.

For the first time, you see him flushing not from the cold but from embarrassment, his so steady hands quivering on the table as he slowly pulls them away. You cover one hand with your own before he can completely take it off the table, and he sputters, eyes wide beneath his shades as he eventually bites his lip to keep from saying anything else. For once, this person who is stronger than you, smarter than you, and infinitely more beautiful than you, surrenders.

You don’t say no. You don’t think you can, at this point.

 

Step 9.

Sex isn’t the only thing when it comes to choosing a partner. You know that. In any case, you have some taste; you wouldn’t be attracted to someone merely because of their sexual appeal. Dirk is an intellectual, a joker, a loyal person who’ll always have your back whenever you need it. He’s a good person, despite how cold he may seem to anyone else. You think that it’s mostly just a plus point that he’s so attractive.

But when Dirk looks up at you, his hands clutching at your back like you’re some sort of lifeline, his face so unnaturally expressive (and _gorgeous_ ) as he says, “ _Please_ ,” it’s hard not to waver.

When you gather your wits after the act, you finally acknowledge that it’s a side of him that is purely yours. Certainly, you’re disappointed that he had to leave at all, considering how you wanted to hold him a little longer- but you already have him.

You can’t ask for anything more.

 

Step 10.

Dirk won’t look at you when you call for him. You don’t understand if there’s something wrong, if he’s just embarrassed after the night before and needs the time alone to compose himself, or if there’s something else on his mind. You don’t know what to do. You want to talk to him, to ask him what’s wrong, but it feels like there’s an even bigger barrier than before between the two of you whenever you try.

You leave him to his thoughts for a while, thinking that it’ll be alright eventually. Surely, he can’t avoid you forever.

(It’s a mistake from the start.)

 

Step 11.

You’ve done something. You’ve done _something_ and you hate how you don’t know what it is, because it only means that you don’t have the vaguest idea of how to fix it. Whenever you catch him looking at you, he looks away not because of embarrassment. He looks away like he was caught doing something forbidden, he looks away like he’s scared, and he flinches whenever you so much as raise a hand to touch him.

It’s all so horribly wrong, and you hate it. You _hate_ it.

 

Step 12.

“Does Skaia sound familiar to you?”

“Not quite,” you say, all through the pounding of your heart inside your chest because Dirk is talking to you again. He practically droops at the answer, eyes downcast as he nods in affirmative. You honestly don’t know what Skaia is, if it’s a game or a band or something else, but- but you feel like lying, just to make him talk to you again.

You think, maybe, you might be in love with him.

 

Step 13.

“I don’t understand,” you say. He doesn’t react much to your words, only crossing his arms over his chest as he sighs. Trying to act nonchalant despite how heavy the words feel, dropping like lead from your chest down to the pits of your stomach.

“We both know that I was never the first choice,” he says, and you freeze. “I only happened to confess first. You accepted because I was convenient.”

“This isn’t fair,” you say before you can stop yourself, voice dropping into a whisper when you realize where you are. “This- it’s all just some grand convoluted scheme to mess with my marbles, isn’t it? You can’t be serious about this.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” he says, saturnine despite the still blank expression on his face. “You just need to say yes, and it’s over. It’s not like it matters, bromide. We can go back to being friends; it’s not like there’s much else to change.”

Wrong. It’s wrong. It’s all _wrong._

“ _No_.”


	3. 13 Steps to the End

“You can’t just decide things on your own, dickprince,” Jake says under his breath, hands shaking as he forces himself to keep his voice down. “Much as I’m confounded by this sudden- sudden wish to break up, I know at least that there must be a reason for it. You can’t end this just because you feel like it without consulting me about my own feelings!”

“Don’t make a ruckus,” Dirk says.

“I can make all the ruckus I bloody want!” Jake snaps as he stands up, ignoring how his chair scrapes loudly against the floor from the sudden force of his movement. “I need a _reason_ instead of this frigging hogwash, shitknickers.”

Dirk clicks his tongue when the librarian glares at them, his eyebrows furrowing for a millisecond as he stands up at a milder pace. “Calm your fucking tits and sit your ass down, English. We can talk this through without having to shout.”

Jake glares for a moment, hesitating, his fingers trying their best to carve lines on the table’s edge as he sucks in a breath. “Fine,” he says after a moment, before sitting back down. Calmer. A little more at ease, but not quite. “Do tell, then. Did someone dare you to do this? Is there someone I ought to punch?”

“Yourself, probably,” Dirk grumbles under his breath, voice soft, but Jake catches it anyway. He should have; living in an island with the constant danger of beasts killing you in your sleep makes good hearing a primal instinct.

“What have I even _done_?” Jake asks, desperation tinging his words as he hides his hands under the table, keeping them clenched tight on his lap as he breathes. “Tell me, Dirk. We can’t fix anything if you’re going to remain cryptic about my romantic ineptitude.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Dirk says, arms still tightly wound around himself. His lips twitch when his shaking leg brushes against Jake’s, and he quickly shifts so that they won’t touch again. “Ironically enough, it’s not exactly your fault. I’ve just come to some realizations.”

“Get to the point, Strider,” Jake says, frowning as he tugs his shorts down. A nervous habit. “I still don’t understand why you want to break up with me.”

“I realized that I like it better when we were best bros,” Dirk says, gaze turned away from Jake. “Things were easier. It seems that I only made romantic ideations about you because my relationship with you was the closest thing to intimacy that I’ve ever had. But I’ve realized otherwise, now. Do you get what I mean?”

“No, I don’t,” Jake says, eyes narrowed as he leans forward, closer, until Dirk has to force himself to keep still so he won’t betray his own unease. “That doesn’t make any sense, and you’re not the type to ideate anything all willy-nilly. You’re the smartest guy I know, sometimes a little _too_ smart, and you always force yourself to think of all the subtleties beneath a certain thing. You always over-think things, Dirk; you’d never be the type to just enter into a relationship because it seemed like it’d be a bang-up time.”

“And you know me so well, huh,” Dirk says, his own eyes narrowed as he looks up at Jake. “Fine. You know what? I’m tired. Romantic relationships just aren’t my thing, Jake. I keep over-thinking how we even _function_ together, how we can keep this shit up even though I know that you don’t like me back.”

“How dare you,” Jake spits out, voice trembling as he forces his voice down, “You can’t assume what it is that I do or do not feel! I- how can you even be so _sure_ that I don’t like you back? Was I not affectionate enough? Should I bring you roses every dadblasted day just to remind you that I love you?”

Dirk doesn’t say anything then.

It takes a while (five seconds, perhaps seven?) before Jake realizes just what it is he’s confessed, and his face flushes instantly. He didn’t mean to blurt it out at a time like this. He says, stumbling over his words, “I- it’s not-”

“It’s fine,” Dirk says, cutting him off immediately. “You didn’t mean it.”

“What? No, I-”

“ _It’s fine_ ,” Dirk says, voice a growl as says the words as softly as he can. “I don’t want to drag this out anymore, Jake. I honestly don’t, so please.” He leans forward, both of his elbows on the table as he covers his face with his hands. “Just say that it’s over.”

“I don’t _want_ it to be over,” Jake says, reaching out with both hands to grip Dirk’s wrists. He struggles when he tries to pry them off, but he manages, and he sucks in a breath once he sees Dirk’s miserable expression. “Please. I don’t understand what I did wrong. We were doing fine, Dirk. I know it. I don’t know why you suddenly want this to stop. Was it-” he hesitates, voice softening, “was it the sex? I can understand if I were not good enough.”

“You’re too fucking hard-headed for your own good,” Dirk says, hands going limp under Jake’s grip. “And no, it’s not the sex. You did fine, for a first-timer.” He smirks, although the attempt at defusing the situation falls flat when Jake only stares intently at him. “Shit, Jake. Why can’t you just let it go?”

“Because I don’t want to,” Jake says instantly, surprising Dirk with his eager answer. “Because I feel like it’ll be the biggest horseshitty thing of my fucking life if I were to let you go now.”

“That’s a shitty reason,” Dirk says, trying to shake off Jake’s grip on his wrists. Jake doesn’t let up, fucking stubborn asshole that he is. “What, does it feel like fate? Is your past telling you that you need to man the fuck up and keep your man?”

“That’s most likely it,” Jake admits without hesitance, to which Dirk sighs. “I’m not kidding, Dirk. Something’s telling me that I’ll regret the heck out of it if I let you go. But that’s not just it, you understand?” He moves his grip up to Dirk’s hands, covering leather-fitted palms with his own sweaty grip. “I- I think I may love you.”

“You’re just eighteen,” Dirk says, frowning, not even bothering to tug his hands out of Jake’s grip. “All your life, you’ve lived on Hellmurder Island, and I was your first friend when you ended up here.”

“Did you think I can’t comprehend that? I’m not that big a buffoon that I can’t be aware of how young I am, how there are so many things that have led me up to this point,” Jake says, squeezing his hands tightly around Dirk’s own. “But does it matter? What if- what if this is how things are supposed to be?”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Dirk says. “You can’t honestly believe that fate pushed you into this.”

“I’m saying that I made my choices and I _chose_ to be here, to be with you,” Jake says, clasping both of Dirk’s hands together and pressing a kiss onto the fingers left bare of his grip. “Why can’t you accept that?”

“Because it’s dumb as shit, because I never thought you’d like me back,” Dirk spits out, and he looks scared, like he doesn’t know just what it is he’s saying. “Because,” he hesitates for a millisecond, squeezing his eyes shut, “I’m scared out of my mind.”

“That’s fine,” Jake says, pressing another kiss to Dirk’s fingers. “Being scared- that just means you’re human, doesn’t it? I won’t leave you for something like that.”

“You don’t get it,” Dirk says, voice quaking for the barest of seconds, “I can’t be with you. It’s not that I don’t want to- but I can’t. I know that I can’t.” He breathes in slowly, bowing his head forward as his shoulders hunch up. “I’m fucked up. I’m as fucked up as they come, and something’s telling me that I shouldn’t be with you.”

“Why?” Jake asks, and Dirk laughs wryly.

“I don’t know. That’s the fucking problem. I just don’t _know._ ” He quivers for a moment, his fingers slowly getting cold despite Jake’s hold on them. “I remember things that shouldn’t have happened. I remember you dying, I remember _me_ dying. I remember how I fucked us up, how I wanted you so badly but you didn’t want me back. I was in love with you despite everything, Jake. But you- you-“

“I do love you, though,” Jake says, voice unusually gentle. Dirk looks up then, looking ready to argue, but Jake gives him a look before he can try. He continues, “And I think- I think I may know where you’re coming from with that, Dirk.”

“You don’t,” Dirk says, forcing his blank expression back on even as his thoughts race within his mind. He knows that Jake doesn’t remember. He’s tried to ask him about it before, all unsuccessful attempts- but he hopes anyway. He expects the worst of it, that Jake doesn’t remember, but he hopes that he understands either way. He just wants things to be alright; he’s not asking for anything excessive. Was that wrong? “You can’t tell me that you love me and expect me to believe it, just like that.”

“You can’t make it like I’m too late,” Jake says, voice firmer than before. “Because I’m _not_ , Dirk. You can’t push me away just because you think I’m lying, because you think that another version of you wasn’t loved by another version of me. I _do_ love you. The me now _loves_ you.”

“You’re such a dumbass,” Dirk says, lowering his head again. He makes a pained sort of sound when Jake releases his hands in favor of cupping his cheeks and tilting his head up, letting him see just how close he is to breaking down and crying like a pathetic whimpering child. “God fucking damn it, Jake. This is the stupidest shit I’ve ever had to put up with.”

“You think that it’s just you?” Jake says, thumb brushing against Dirk’s cheek. “I’ve had to put up with a lot of your malarkey the moment I met you, and this is the icing on the cake.”

“Asshole,” Dirk says, sniffling when Jake grins at him.

“You love me,” Jake says, grin softening into a smile. “We’ll fix things, won’t we?”

“Probably.” Dirk inhales through his mouth, not wanting to resort to another moment of sniffling. He exhales when Jake removes his hands from his face, the hands moving down to take up Dirk’s own pair in his grip again. “It’s likely, considering your obstinacy.”

“I’ll be taking that as a compliment,” Jake says, smile dim but still there. Dirk doesn’t bother to smile back, still tired despite Jake’s nigh unwavering optimism, but he does squeeze Jake’s hands back in response. The taste of it all is bittersweet on his tongue and heavy like lead in the pit of his stomach, yet he swallows it down because he doesn’t see the harm in trying.

Even if it does feel futile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to end on a horribly sad note, but eh. Hope you guys like it! <3


End file.
